Resolving

Thank you to karelia, and all hail to the queue!

Hermione waited while Draco called a house-elf and ordered tea and toast. "Were you there last night?" he asked, offering her a seat at a large, ornately carved table.

"I was."

"Did you...?"

"See what your father had turned into? Yes."

"That wasn't my father."

"I know."

He gave her a sharp look. "You know? What do you know?"

"Not enough. I know there is Dark Magic involved and that it was your mark that was killing you. I know that somehow, your mother freed you, sacrificing her own life."

"She did. Or I would have become that thing next."

"Then you knew what he would become?"

He looked down at the table. "Not at first. He was affected weeks before I was. Mother and I thought he had caught some stray curse in the battle that was reacting to his mark. He holed himself up with his books night and day until he knew what was happening. He didn't explain anything, kept it all very mysterious. Mother was furious." Draco looked around the room as if he could still see his family at table, arguing. "Then, when it had spread so far that he grew weak, he told us he had to be killed."

Hermione impulsively reached over and squeezed his hand.

"We thought it was part of the illness. We took him to St. Mungo's instead. They couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. By that point, the mark had engulfed his entire body. He kept telling us we had to kill him. We thought he was raving."

"When my mark went, it was much faster than with my father. It started as a mild burning, less than when he would summon us. Then it itched." His eyes filled with the same horror she had seen on Severus' face. "Then you could feel it. Well, more than any of us already could. It was a cold awareness just under the skin, and you just knew it was loose. It was alive. First it blurred, and then it started to spread. My whole arm was done for by the end of the first day. Mum took me to St. Mungo's right away, thinking we had waited too long with father.

"She told me she was going to read father's texts. Go back over his notes. That must have been when she found his letter. He'd known she would try to find an answer when I took ill. He had left her instructions on how to save me and explained what he would turn into if she didn't kill him."

Draco fell silent and stared at the tea tray that had appeared as if he didn't know what it was.

"She told you all this?" Hermione prompted.

"No. I found the letter after I came home again."

"I'm so sorry. That must have been a terrible moment."

He looked up at her, and his eyes filled with tears. He just nodded and set about pouring tea.

"She left me her own letter. I found it when I woke up, after I was healed. She told me he really did need to be killed. She said I had to or the consequences would be terrible." Draco wrapped his arms around himself and whispered, "But I failed." He began to rock back and forth.

She leaned over and rubbed his shoulder uselessly. He was desperately in need of comfort but she didn't have much to give.

"Because you couldn't do it? That's not failing, Draco. He was your father. You loved him. Even I could see how much you idolized him. Of course you couldn't."

Draco pulled away from her, drying his eyes with a quick swipe of his sleeve. He reclaimed a bit of his hauteur and sneered. "Why are you here, Granger? Curiosity? Come to gawk at the Slytherin orphan?"

Hermione sat back and shook her head. "I needed answers. I'm trying to help Professor Snape..."

"He's still alive?" he blurted.

She nodded. "Not for much longer. His Dark Mark is killing him too. He was badly injured in the battle and was in isolation in St. Mungo's. He was there for two weeks before even I knew he'd survived, and I was working there." She gave him a direct stare. "He killed the creature that took over your father's body last night. He knows now that that's his fate. I'm pretty sure that once everyone puts all the pieces together, then the Ministry will know as well. That's why I grabbed him and ran."

Draco's eyebrows shot up, and then back down as he scowled at her. "Ran? What do you mean, ran?"

"I mean, I couldn't let them kill him while he was still aware. Your father was in a coma for weeks before that thing took over. Severus is still a vital human being..."

He tilted his head to the side. "You can't go by father, or me either. The timing depends on variables we can't understand." He gave her a level stare. "You seem to be on rather good terms with him."

Hermione blushed, obviously confusing him even more. "I've been tending him these past weeks. We've grown... close."

"How close?"

"Close enough that I hid him where no one can find him and promised to kill him when the time comes."

"Did he teach you how?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did he teach you how he killed that demon last night?"

"No. He said there was no way he would. That I would need to know how to bind a demon to me first and that just learning something like that would corrupt me. I'll have to kill him before he turns into it."

Draco looked at her with pity. "He'll turn into it anyway," he said with a shudder of revulsion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that there's no hope, Granger. I did kill my father on Saturday. I slipped into his room and smothered him with a pillow." His face spasmed and twisted in grief, and Hermione reached across the table and clutched his hand. "I know he was dead. I didn't fail. I did what my mother asked me to."

"What went wrong?"

"Don't you see? You can't kill a fucking demon with a pillow! I just killed his body, not what was in it. It regenerates what it wants. If I'd stabbed it through the heart, it would have healed. I didn't understand how he came back to life until I came home and read his letter to her. She didn't tell me everything. I wouldn't have known how to anyway. I don't..." He dragged in a long breath and blew it out. "I don't really know enough about the Dark Arts. I don't know what spells Severus used to kill it."

Hermione winced. "Avada Kedavra. He had to bind the demon to him first and order it to accept banishment before he could."

Draco shook his head and prodded at his rapidly cooling teacup. "I'm sorry. If you were looking for me to help you figure out how to kill him, I'd try incinerating the body and scattering the ashes. Do it while Severus is still in charge. If he accepts it consciously, it might be the same as binding. Don't wait until his mind is gone."

She swallowed thickly. "Actually, I was looking for you to help me figure out how to save him," she said quietly.

His head snapped up. "You're willing to die for him? To take his place in hell? Do you love him?"

"I-I don't know. I've certainly come to care about him a great deal... I was hoping there would be another way."

Draco shook his head slowly. "Voldemort made a bargain with a demon so he could have greater power. He promised to serve in hell as payment for greater control over us all. He pledged the souls of his followers as well. He never intended to keep his end of the bargain, because he never intended to die." He flicked his lank, white-blonde hair out of his eyes and paused a moment before saying, "Every one of us that took the Dark Mark was damned. It linked us to the demon plane. I don't know if anyone really knew. Perhaps Severus. Certainly not my parents. Not until it was too late."

Draco started unbuttoning the sleeve of his tailored robes. "The only way to save him is to take his place, Granger. That's what my mother did." He pulled up the sleeve to reveal pristine, pale gold flesh. "My mother never took the mark, and she never killed anyone. She had her faults, but her soul was still clean enough to make a good trade. She bartered her life, and the eternity of her death, to take my place serving in hell."

He leaned across the table and gave her a fierce look. "Would you do the same for Severus? He was my godfather and my head of house, and even I don't love him enough. Not enough to be able to compel the demon that holds the cord on his soul. If you don't love him enough, if your intent wavers for an instant, or if you're careless when you summon him, the demon will simply kill you for having wasted his time, and drag your soul back with him. When you pull them out of their plane of existence, you already give them a certain amount of power over you. If you're not strong, they crush you."

Draco sat back. "That's all assuming you can find the name of the correct demon. There are millions of them, perhaps billions."

"How did your mother find the correct one?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know. She didn't leave any notes. Just a letter saying good bye and ordering me to kill father." Draco stood up. "If you want my advice, Granger, go back to wherever you have him hiding and kill him while he's still in control. Then incinerate the body and scatter the ashes. Don't feed him false hope. That would be too cruel. He can feel it inside of him. He knows the truth."

"There has to be a way," she said. "None of you knew. Voldemort couldn't have bargained away your souls without consent. Kill you? Yes. Doom you all to an eternity of... whatever it is? It doesn't work in my mind, and I know little to nothing about it. If I hadn't seen the thing that had taken over your father's body with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed any of this."

"I only know enough to know it exists. It's real. The Dark Mark was a vile, disgusting thing that terrified and repulsed me once I received it. The others seemed to deal with it by shedding their humanity. I couldn't make the same leap. I don't know how my father dealt with it all those years. I don't like the answers I come up with when I think about it.

"As for your concept of bad sportsmanship, unless you can find some supernatural court of law, you're wasting your breath. I wish I could offer you hope. I would like to see my godfather survive. Nevertheless, Severus is already dead, Granger. If you drag things out, you will only make it far worse for everyone."

He led her back to the entrance hall. "If you wait here, I'll get you father's notes. It will explain in more detail why I think it's hopeless. If it will convince you to hurry his end, it will be worth it. It's the least I can do."

"I would like that very much," she said.

He nodded and disappeared into the one room in this enormous house she hoped never to set foot in again. It didn't take him long to return. He handed her a thick, leather-bound tome with folded parchment in it.

"I won't pretend I understood everything my father wrote about. I doubt very much that my mother did either. The book is Dark. It will have some of the answers you seek, but you need to take all due precautions before you read it."

"Thank you," she said, taking it. It felt wrong in her hands immediately. She quickly tucked it into her beaded bag. "I'm sorry for everything, Draco. Truly. I know it was dreadful of me to intrude on your grief to pester you with questions. I hope you know I wouldn't have had I not been desperate."

He opened the door for her. "I appreciated the chance to talk to someone who understood. You did me a service. I wish you luck. Let me know when it's over. The sooner the better."

She nodded, and he quietly closed the door behind her.

:

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace at Spinner's End and brushed soot off her robes. She looked up, expecting to see Severus, but found herself alone. She'd left him to sleep in...they'd managed to exhaust each other quite thoroughly the night before...so she wasn't surprised that he wasn't up yet. What surprised her was that she was sure someone was there.

She stood there, momentarily disoriented, until she realized what the sensation was. It was the books. The feeling of a presence in the room had magnified.

When she had first arrived, she'd felt like a mouse, beneath the notice of some slumbering beast. Then, it had felt as if the presence in the room was aware of her, yet tolerant.

Now that feeling of toleration had vanished. She had the sense she was being stared at, and whatever it was, wasn't pleased.

The feeling grew more intense, and she found herself backing toward the kitchen. It didn't ease with distance from the Dark Arts books. All of the books seemed aware. They were all discontented. She'd never felt anything like it. She fled into the kitchen and nearly sagged as she heard the sound of Severus moving through the house upstairs.

From the soft sound of his feet on the stairs, she knew he was barefoot. He burst through the bookcase door dressed in an old, grey dressing gown and his pajama bottoms. After a quick glance around the sitting room, he came straight for her.

She was so relieved, she lifted her hands up toward him. He reached out and snatched the beaded bag dangling from her hand. She stood there dumbstruck as he yanked open the string-tie and overturned it on the table.

She could see the number of items that fell out of it surprised him. Bags of groceries bounced off the table, and tinned fruits and vegetables rolled across the floor. He dug through it all until he came up with Draco's book.

"What the hell do you have this for?" he hissed, brandishing it in her face.

"For answers," she said in a small voice.

"I told you not to look for answers! You don't understand what you're dealing with!"

He turned and stormed back into the sitting room, and she darted after him.

"Severus, wait!"

She was too late. He'd already thrown the book and Lucius Malfoy's pages of notes into the fireplace and blasted it with an Incendio. The book actually howled before it burst into flames and turned to ash.

"Why did you do that?" she yelled. "That belonged to Draco! It contained some of his father's last writings! It wasn't mine!"

She felt an answer of a sort as the flames died down. The room seemed to settle again, the awareness in the room seemed to sigh and the crushingly heavy atmosphere popped like a soap bubble.

"What the hell is that?" she asked, looking around.

"What is what?" he snapped.

"Are these books alive?" she asked, stepping close to him.

He snorted. "The Dark Arts books are incredibly dangerous. That doesn't make them sentient. I have mastered them, made them mine. I can touch them with impunity. Bringing Lucius's book here was dangerous. He had bound it with his own Dark Magic. It could have eaten away at my own and weakened my control over them. I don't have enough time left to protect you from them all over again. The Dark Magic I would need to use would hasten my demise before I could finish. Do you see?"

"No, I meant the anger..."

"I was angry because I thought you would heed my warning. You promised..."

"Not you," she snapped. "The books! The books were angry!" She spun around. "All of them!"

He gave her a long look before taking her hand and pulling her closer. "Hermione," he whispered. "You're overwrought. The Dark Arts books are dangerous, but with precaution, you're safe from them. They are keyed to me. As my heir, they will be keyed to you upon my death. I highly recommend you sell them. They will bring you a good sum, and none of them are good for your peace of mind."

She nodded her head but didn't completely understand.

He stroked a finger down between her eyes and along her nose. "Come. I've made a mess of the kitchen. You can talk to me as I tidy up."

She blinked, having to replay his last words to make sense of them. She'd been distracted by his right hand stroking her face.

It was completely black, just like the other one.

When he noticed, he clenched his hand into a fist and walked past her into the kitchen.

She followed, but stopped in the doorway to place her palm on the spine of an ancient copy of Useful Botanical Serums. The book seemed to purr under her touch. She looked around the room before joining him in the kitchen to clean up the mess and make something to eat.

:

By the time they had finished lunch, half of Severus's face had succumbed. His left eye, his brow, his cheek and half of his mouth were black. Using his magic had definitely quickened the process. There was no white in his eye, just the liquid gleam of moisture. The darkness pulsed and writhed, slowly stealing more of him as she watched.

She knew in her heart she no longer had days. She had only a handful of hours left. She needed to make a choice, but the cold hand pressing on her heart wouldn't allow it.

He finished cleaning the last dish and placed it in the cupboard. Turning, he leaned against the worktop and heaved a deep sigh before lifting his ruined face to her.

"I'm tiring," he said.

She took his hand, and he pulled her into his arms, pressing his face into her hair.

"Then let's go rest upstairs," she said softly.

"Rest won't help, Hermione," he replied. "After all these weeks of healing, I can tell that my body has reversed. I'm losing my strength. The end has begun."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she pressed herself against him. "We have a little while yet, surely."

He shook his head slowly. "Not enough. Not enough to show you what you have come to mean to me. How much I hold you in awe. Not enough time to understand why I was granted this just before it's all taken away."

He kissed her forehead. "I'm so sorry. I wish you had never found me. I wish I'd died thinking you all hated me. It would have been easier to let go. However, what is, is. All that's left is for me to fade away until I turn into a monster." He pushed her back and looked into her eyes. Let me go to the Ministry. The Unspeakables might know how to deal with me, surely my fellow Death Eaters in Azkaban must have turned by now. Let me go now, while I'm still me. I don't want it to be you." Her breath rushed out from the force of his hug.

She closed her eyes and looked down at the floor. "I promised you I would."

He lifted her chin with his blackened hand, and kissed her lips with the gentlest of pressures. "You should never have promised such a thing. I should never have put you in such a position."

He kissed her again, a deeper kiss, filled with everything that couldn't be. "Let me go. I want to be far away from you when I turn."

His quiet words fell upon her like a poisonous spring rain. She drew in a deep breath, and made her decision.

She scrubbed at her face and nodded, swallowing around the lump in her throat. "All right. Come on then. Let's get you dressed."

She led him up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Letting go of his hand, she watched as he walked over to his wardrobe and pulled open the doors.

He stared at himself in the mirror. In the short time of their conversation, his forehead had succumbed. Only his right eye and cheekbone were left untouched. He closed his eyes and shrugged out of his dressing gown, laying it down on the bed next to him.

She admired the strange magnificence of his body. It looked as if it had been sculpted in onyx. His sleek lines seemed like a silhouette. He struck her as beautiful, even in his corruption.

He reached for the drawstring waistband of his pajama pants, as she stifled her tears and pulled out her wand.

His head came up sharply, and he stared at her with wide eyes in the mirror.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered in a broken voice, aiming her wand at him.

He closed his eyes briefly and pain flashed across his features. When he opened his eyes, they were full of acceptance.

"Don't be," he whispered back, turning to face her. "I thank you."

Tears flowed freely down her face as she aimed her wand at his heart. "Petrificus Totalus!"